


Love is Mad

by chaoticxlovers



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Bruce sucks at hiding his feelings, Clothing Kink, Enemy Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticxlovers/pseuds/chaoticxlovers
Summary: An item of Jeremiah's falls into the hands of none other than Bruce Wayne, who not only becomes infatuated with the item itself, but the man it belongs to.





	Love is Mad

**Author's Note:**

> I know the summary sounds a bit weird but Bruce isn't attracted to the item or anything, he's just obsessed with the fact it belongs to Jeremiah.

Bruce should’ve just thrown it away. It would’ve been the most logical option for sure; but as he stared at the pile of purple silk lying on the grass, he had the strong, pushing urge to take it. To keep it. So… He did.

He told himself it was because the material was of good quality—that it looked nice on him. But the truth in the matter was stored away in the deepest, twisted parts of his mind. He wanted it because it was Jeremiah’s. Because the man had just… Left it there, after pushing Bruce into the grave.

There were flecks of blood staining the material, but that could be easily washed away. He scratched some of the bits off anyways, putting the material up to his nose and taking a slow breath in. It smelt like cologne, gun powder, and dirt. It smelt like Jeremiah.

He remembered the nights staying late at Jeremiah’s hideout, talking and laughing together while bumping shoulders. He remembered the man wearing the tie one day, remembers it being tucked under a brown suit jacket that fit him so well. It was the first time Bruce wanted to kiss him, and be with him in a more intimate way. That urge never faded, but the fantasy involved a lot more violence now.

He wanted to tear the man apart, destroy him with teeth and tongue. He didn’t necessarily like these thoughts, but they were seared into his brain, popping up every time Jeremiah got too close, or said something too personal. Some of the man’s words still echoed in his head from time to time, sometimes while he laid in bed at night alone, or with some nameless woman.

Bruce was ashamed to admit he finished each time with just the mere thought of the man.

And the tie… Well, he wasn’t too happy with himself for pocketing it, and hiding it in his dresser when he got home. It was a piece of Jeremiah, of their history. There was too much pain and lust woven into it to just throw it away. He didn’t have the strength to do that.

So he’d keep it there, with a small promise to himself that he wouldn’t mess with the item in the future.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce didn’t have much self-restraint, so of course that promise only lasted a week. He had almost forgotten about the tie until Jeremiah became the topic of conversation when buildings started blowing up around Gotham, injuring and frightening the innocent civilians.  Bruce was pissed about it—so pissed. He rummaged through his drawer till he found the tie at the bottom, ripping it out and clutching it in a tight fist of rage.

He watched his hand whiten, watched it shake and tremble as anger mixed with sadness. His eyes burned, and he let the tears slip out, watched them spill onto the tie as he fell to his bed, body rocking with small sobs. God, he missed the Jeremiah he thought he knew. Wished that man could come back to him, laugh with him and connect with him through a pure, sane love. But he hated himself for still liking the now criminal mastermind. He still got shivers down his spine whenever the man got near, even if it was just to hurt him. What did that make of Bruce? A hero who loves the villain? He was a hypocrite. A dirty hypocrite. Jeremiah just had a certain zing and flourish about him that pulled Bruce in with interest and amaze. He could never deny the connection between them, at least not in his own mind.

His eyes wandered down to the tie in his hand, blinking away his blurry vision and sucking in a trembling breath. He wanted to tear the material to pieces between his fingers— destroy every string and thread, every memory sowed in. It hurt too much.

With shaking hands, he brought the tie to his mouth, pressing it there to muffle his cries. A muted sound of anguish tore its way from his throat as he sunk his teeth into the material, biting hard enough to make his gums ache and his teeth numb.  _Why do I love you?_ He let the tie go, pressing a small kiss to it before he threw it to the ground, rubbing at his wet eyes as he regained his composure.

He rolled his shoulders back, cracked his neck, and got to work. Emotions weren’t important, and he could push them to the side for the time being.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce left the tie alone to focus on actually finding Jeremiah for once, and trying to figure out his plan. Every day and hour spent working was slowly ticking his frustration and stress higher and higher, though. His mind was a mess, and it wasn’t until he snapped at Alfred one night that he realized he needed to calm down somehow.

He retired for the night, apologized to Alfred, and took a long, steaming hot shower. He let his worries drain with the water, but there was still a feeling of stress and anger nipping at his nerves, spiking his pulse and making him press his fingers more roughly through his hair.

Bruce shook his head as he dried and got dressed, flopping down onto his bed with nothing but a fluffy robe on. He definitely felt more light and somewhat relaxed, but he still needed some way to settle down. He toyed with the case of his phone as he thought over various ideas in his mind, wondering if it’d be worth it to call up one of the girls he had saved into his phone from one of his previous party days.

She could help him unwind… But it wasn’t the touch of a woman he wanted. Nor the image , either. No, as he reached for the tie laying on the floor, there was only one particular person he had on his mind. One with stark pale skin and dark, contrasting hair. One with the soul and looks of the devil—a demon who’s pointed tail was wrapped around his throat and heart.

He did nothing but stare at the material at first, a picture of Jeremiah flashing through his mind as he held it to his nose. He could see vividly behind his eyes the image of Jeremiah in a pressed suit, tie wrapped around his throat and smoothed against his chest. He imagined the man’s firm body, of the scars and pale skin beneath the layers of clothing he always wore around. He wondered how it might feel to touch the skin. Would it be cold, or warm? Would it electrify Bruce with the want and desire he so helplessly felt right now, or would it make him cringe away in disgust?

The growing bulge underneath his robe seemed to know the answer.

With a muttered curse, Bruce untied his robe, anxiety and shame already curving their way into his gut. He shook the feeling off, channeling all his energy to focus onto nothing but his pleasure and release. People fantasized about all sorts of weird things and situations, so there couldn’t be any harm in having his enemy be the object of his attraction, right? He tried to rationalize with himself, but the memory of the last time he held the tie in his hand flooded back to him, along with the knowing fear that this was more than just a sexual fantasy.

But those thoughts produced nothing but more frustration and worry, so he let them flow away, let his mind conjure back the images of Jeremiah that had been previously floating around. His hands trembled as they grew nearer to his cock, tie still clutched in one fist. Behind his closed eyes was the phantom body of Jeremiah hovering over him, shirt undone and tie dangling loosely from around his throat. He could see the other man’s arousal, could feel his rough hands dragging across his skin, tugging down his robe.

His breath hitched as his imagination delved deeper into his suppressed fantasies and desires, flashes of the times he had seen Jeremiah wearing the tie making his cock ache. He held the material loosely around his cock, hand pressing it to his heated skin, moving it up and down, tugging at the ends. It felt so, so good. The smell of Jeremiah, the touch of Jeremiah,  _everything about Jeremiah_  was attached to this tie in some way.

The blurry image of Jeremiah tugging at his cock, warm breath against his lips and skin as he jerked him off made his body ache to come. But he let himself take it slow, let all his agitation and rage and heartache flow into every shaky movement. He threw an arm across his face, panting into the flushed skin as he sped up his hand, silk and skin rubbing against his cock almost harshly.

A muffled cry was pressed to his arm as he came, the image of Jeremiah still present and seared into his brain. The image of him bare and pale, and working Bruce over. The evidence of what Bruce had done was on his body and his mind, and with a burning, shameful heart, he got up to wash it all away with yet another shower—this time cold.

 

* * *

 

 

The memory was still haunting Bruce days later. Every talk of Jeremiah, every picture of him in the news … It brought everything back; the oldest and most recent experiences popping up and making him blush and, often times, tear up.

He felt overemotional and stupid--is this what his father would have wanted him to be? A man with dwindling morals and a lust for the devil? Surely not. Though, Bruce supposed, there was nothing he could do about it except keep pushing through and pushing away every want and desire that flooded his mind.

“Bruce, are you alright?” Alfred’s warm, concerned voice tugged him out of the self-hatred and guilt that he was nearly drowning in at this point. The man always had a hand outstretched to pull him out, but sometimes it was best to deny that hand, and let himself sink. At least when it came to Jeremiah.

“I’m fine, thanks.” He said, sipping from a hot cup of tea. He wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 It wasn’t till Jeremiah broke into the mansion to shoot Selina that Bruce was reminded just how much he despised the man. How could he love someone who committed such wicked and vile acts? How could he care for the monster hidden under a helpless child’s bed? The monster that killed and destroyed till there was nothing left standing but his own twisted version of life and death.

When Bruce saw the man, gun in hand and hat shadowing his pale face, his first instinct was to cower. Cower from the fear and affection that kept him tied to the criminal. But that wasn’t the fear he should’ve been worried about, no. Seeing Selina bleed out on his floor, body convulsing and eyes wide… He wished the bullet struck him instead. He wished he had the strength and energy to jump in front of her, to push what he felt away, and keep her safe.

Why hadn’t he? Why  _couldn't_  he?

The worst part was the tie wrapped around his throat. The tie that belonged to Jeremiah. He put it on that morning without much thought. It was warm and smooth from the dryer, fresh and new. Jeremiah’s scent had been completely washed away, so he felt it was safe to wear it. Clearly, he was mistaken.

It felt like a necklace of thorns poking through his skin, suffocating him with his own toxic blood. He wanted to throw it away, felt ashamed to be wearing it at Selina’s side. God, what would she say about this? He had almost told her that night. Had let it slip that he was interested in a man, a dangerous man with no morals or soul. He remembered the look of pity on her face, and the taste of her tears from the last kiss shared between them.

She knew, to a certain extent. Knew enough to hate him.

And when Bruce was called down to the station to talk to Jeremiah afterwards, he nearly jumped at the offer. It was his chance to break the man, to crack him and hurt him till he felt the pain Bruce did.

But as the door creaked open to reveal the man, Bruce’s pain dissipated, replaced by the raging fire he felt when the shot rang through the mansion. It put him into focus, let him calmly walk up to the man when he urged “closer.” Then another time. The one simple word had Bruce nearly melting to the floor, tie burning a hole in his chest, charring his heart and turning it into ashes of bitter love.

As the man went on about how they were destined to be together, how they shared the same fate, same nature, Bruce could feel himself grow weaker, more shaky and almost scared. But he stood strong, demanded more with nothing but anger in his voice. The comment about Selina caused his blood to boil, red burning the edge of his vision as he grabbed onto Jeremiah’s lapels, pressing him to give up more information without letting his feelings get in the way.

“I see you came dressed for the occasion, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the formal attire. Nice tie, by the way.” The comment almost threw Bruce off, and he let go of the man’s jacket as he repeated the previous question, asking, “what man.” When Jeremiah gave the hints about Ra’s Al Ghul, he felt his body seize with fear and shock. Just the reminder of him—the person he  _killed_ now  _alive_ made him nearly gag.

“Don’t worry, Bruce. You’ll be safe with me.” Jeremiah whispered as the lights flickered off. Bruce took a step back fearfully in anticipation, the sound of metal hitting the floor and piercing screams flooding the room made him still. He couldn’t see the man, but he felt Jeremiah nearly fall on top of him as he was freed from his confines, felt the brush of lips on his own before being dragged from the room, wrists tied with arms secured in front of him.

“I think you look lovely in that tie.” Jeremiah whispered in his ear as he hauled him out of the building, shoving a black bag over his head. Bruce tried headbutting back against the man, fear and lust twisting his gut, causing him to squirm, try to escape. Jeremiah knew, he fucking knew. And that was the scariest part. The fact the man had any idea about what Bruce might feel left him feeling exposed and naked. The secret was out, and the ball was in Bruce’s court now.

 

* * *

 

 

After Ra’s and Jeremiah were done rambling on about prophesy and whatnot, Bruce had just about had enough. He kept his head on straight, staring out at the lights of the city. He didn’t jump when Jeremiah’s hand fell upon his shoulder, but the “together” the man said, voice quiet and rough, made Bruce shiver.

“If you don’t mind, me and Bruce are going to have a private conversation, now. No interruptions would be pleasant, unless there’s an emergency.” Jeremiah gave a small nod to Ra’s, who responded with a hesitant one of his own. Jeremiah then exited the room with Bruce, walking them through the vast area until they reached a pair of stairs. Bruce was all but hauled up them, pushed into what seemed to be some sort of office. There was a couch against one wall and a desk near the end of the small room, an empty bookcase opposite it.

None of the guards had followed them, leaving the two men alone. Bruce wondered what Jeremiah wanted, if he should be scared of what was to come. But after the speech about their supposed destiny and fate, Bruce didn’t think Jeremiah had anything violent planned out. Jeremiah wasn’t even acting nearly as cruel in the room with just Bruce in it. He pushed him gently onto the couch, crouching in front of him and giving him a dead stare.

Bruce leaned back a bit and glanced over the man’s features; the bruised eye, cut lip, piercing cold, surreal eyes that cut into him with a mysterious sort of interest. “Do you know how much I miss our moments together?” Jeremiah murmured, gloved hand reaching out to finger the purple tie hung around Bruce’s neck. He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing over the tight knot of silk. Jeremiah eyed the movement, watching him with gleaming eyes.  

The gloved hand crawled up, smooth leather stroking against Bruce’s skin. “I miss when you thought we were both equals-- because we still are, Bruce. Nothing has changed except for your sudden reluctance to the truth.” Bruce nearly choked up at Jeremiah’s words. _He thinks about them too, huh?_  “I know you feel it, the connection between us.” Jeremiah continued, firm hand gripping the back of Bruce’s neck and pulling him just an inch closer. He saw the slight twitch in Jeremiah’s eyes, along with the madness hidden inside them. The madness he knew was reflected in his own.

He feels it, yes. God knows he feels it.

“We are nothing alike.” Bruce spat out, snarling at the man, too reluctant and afraid to show his deeper feelings, instead focusing on the fire of rage sweeping through his veins, burning his core. Jeremiah always knew how to set him off in all the wrong ways. “We never will be. You’re not who you were before, Jeremiah, You’re a cold blooded psychopath, and we both know that’s the truth.”

Bruce felt the hand tighten around his throat, leather crunching together and pinching his skin. He saw the fire of rage in Jeremiah’s eyes, the same fire that burned within his own. Both with embers of lust and desire hidden beneath the flames. Perhaps they were alike, in some way, Bruce mused bitterly in his mind. “No need to deny it when it’s just the two of us, Bruce. You don’t have to hide your true self when I’m here.” The man purred, hand loosening and rubbing soothingly over the fading pain on Bruce’s neck. _Why does your touch hurt more than your fist?_

“No, Jeremiah, I don’t. This is who I am, you’re just delusional.” Bruce growled out through grinding teeth. The tension between them was palpable, buzzing with desire and rage. Jeremiah’s hand never tightened again, though. The fire kindling in his eyes grew, but he didn’t hurt Bruce like he was expecting the man to. Instead, he pulled Bruce forward by his tie, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips. He let out a muffled gasp of surprise, freezing as Jeremiah got to his knees, slowly pushing Bruce back against the couch as he crawled onto him, like predator hunting his prey. But, Bruce supposed, in Jeremiah’s mind they were both predators. Both equally fucked up. Maybe he was right…

“Well?” Jeremiah asked, pulling back as he seemed to notice Bruce’s hesitant, still behavior. “Tell me you feel it, tell me you want it.” Bruce nearly whined at the words; they rang so true and hurt so much, but should Bruce be willing to give into them? Should he let  _this_ happen? Jeremiah seemed to be giving him a moment to think it through, shifting to get comfortable as he hovered over the other man.

Bruce remembered the night he touched himself to the thought of Jeremiah, how he forgot about everything else and just focused on the pleasure. Just pleasure, no stress or other care in the world. He remembered how his heart hurt from the truth—how it did now, with Jeremiah’s now soft eyes watching him patiently. He loved the man, every part, just as much as hated him. Why not act on the love for once?

Bruce surged forward, planting a sloppy kiss to the corner of Jeremiah’s mouth before falling back to the cushions, unable to keep himself up with his tied hands between them. He watched Jeremiah lighten up, face breaking out into a grin as he touched his painted lips with his glove, looking happy and shocked at the fact that Bruce had initiated the kiss, for once.

“Oh, Bruce, you won’t regret this. You and I,” Jeremiah murmured, leaning down to plant kisses from the man’s jaw, down his neck. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” He hissed at the sharp sting of pain that burned his neck, shocked for a moment before he realized _Jeremiah bit him._  That thought alone was enough to make his pants tighten, for him to squirm under Jeremiah, try to break his hands free from their confines so he could  _touch the man._

Jeremiah eased back with a quick wipe of his tongue to the place he had nipped, seeming to take his time as he shrugged of his suit jacket, unbuttoning his shirt as he eyed Bruce up and down. When his hands reached for the blue tie around his throat Bruce let out a strangled, small sound of disapproval. Jeremiah eyebrows reached his hairline as he looked from the tie, to Bruce, a small smirk creeping its way up his face.

“You like how it looks?” Jeremiah said, as Bruce drank in the sight of the dark blue contrasted against the man’s pale chest. He had never explored something like this with a man before, but this.. This was something he could get used to.

“Yes.” He breathed out, toes curling as Jeremiah leaned down to nuzzle at the boy’s throat. He felt the man’s still gloved fingers dance across each of his buttons, undoing them one by one before they were both bare chested, nothing but ties dangling from their throats—which did look a bit silly, Bruce thought with a blush. But then he had an idea, one that might destroy him, but something he just needed to try out.

“Put mine on.” Bruce said, feeling the man still, then lean back. He watched Jeremiah’s head tilt to the side, watched his eyes scan his face, trying to read him. He knew there was something special about that specific tie, Bruce could see. His face burned as Jeremiah did as he was told, throwing his blue tie off to the side as he looped Bruce’s over his head.

“Well, I know this tie is mine, but what makes it so special to you?” Jeremiah asked as he let a gloved hand travel between them, palming Bruce through his pants. The boy had to grit his teeth to keep the sounds urging to escape caged in. Jeremiah shushed him gently, rubbing ever so slowly and softly against his clothed cock. “Tell me, Bruce.”

“It’s special because you wore it when we first met.” Bruce said, voice shaking as the pleasure between his legs ached, breathing ragged and uneven as he watched the gloved hand work him over tantalizingly slow. “Because you wore it in my best memories of you, and of my worst. And I…” Bruce’s words broke off, face flushing as he shook his head. Like hell Jeremiah needed to know about everything else.

“Hm? What was that last bit?” Jeremiah murmured, hand coming to a stop as he gazed down at Bruce with a look of power and control. And Bruce loved that look, loved the man above him and on top of him. Fuck, he wanted him so bad. He arched his hips just to get some friction from the hand still placed there, and Jeremiah snatched the limb away immediately.

“I cried with it,” he choked out, memories of the night before flooding back into his mind. The heartache, the pain… The night he started to accept his feelings for the man. Jeremiah urged him on with a small peck to his lips rubbing their noses together softly as he waited, pupils blown wide in desire. “I used it to- to….” Bruce couldn’t say it, didn’t want to. The shame was still there, still burning in his mind.

“C’mon, Bruce, tell me.” Jeremiah said, and Bruce could see it in his eyes that he already knew. He just wanted to hear Bruce say it. His cock strained against his pants, pleasure spiking at the realization. _Fuck him_ , he thought, taking in a deep breath before he opened his mouth to speak once more.

“I touched myself with it. I thought of you, just like this. I came.” Bruce said quietly, watching as Jeremiah’s pupils nearly swallowed the whites of his eyes. The man swooped down, crashing their mouths together. Bruce bit his lip from the force, hissing in pain as blood seeped into the kiss. Jeremiah didn’t seem to mind, though, lapping at the wound with his tongue as his hands hurriedly undid Bruce’s belt, then his own, shoving their pants down till they were both skin to skin.

“Did it feel like this?” Jeremiah growled, taking Bruce in his gloved hand and stroking him slowly. Bruce threw his head back at the shock of pleasure that pierced his skin at the touch, and his wrists strained to break free. He nodded frantically, legs wrapping around Jeremiah’s waist to pull him closer as he arched his back into the hand stroking and tugging at his cock.

“Yes, yes…” He panted against Jeremiah’s mouth, nearly coming as Jeremiah pressed their cocks together, stroking them both. The feel of leather and skin rubbing against his cock was enough to make him moan, and he let his mouth fall open to release the noise. Let all the vile, filthy sounds he’d been keeping in flood out into the open because this was just  _too fucking good._

Then Jeremiah stopped, and Bruce swore he could hear his neck crack as he whipped his head back up to stare in bewilderment as Jeremiah took off the tie, winking at Bruce before wrapping it around the boy’s mouth tight enough to keep it there, but loose enough so he could still breathe and talk, though the fabric made it a bit harder to do so.

“I want you to lick it, bite it, mark it…” Jeremiah said, grinding their hips flush together as he nipped at Bruce’s earlobe. “So I can use it when you’re gone.” Fuck. Fuck, Bruce was definitely not going to last much longer. Jeremiah seemed to be filthier than him: Bruce’s blood staining his lips, tie wrapped around his mouth as the man spoke perhaps the most foul, dirty words Bruce had ever been at the mercy of hearing.

“Can you do that for me, hm?” Jeremiah breathed hotly against his ear, continuing the rhythm of their hips, cocks brushing together till Jeremiah took them both back in hand, still grinding down, making Bruce cry out, biting the fabric of the tie in his mouth-- licking it, like Jeremiah had ordered.

“You’re so beautiful like this, did you know that?” Jeremiah murmured, head coming back into view as he looked Bruce up and down, eyes lingering on their hard, leaking cocks. “Spread out under me like a dirty whore. But you’re not, Bruce. No, you’re so much more than that. So, so much more.” Jeremiah rambled on as Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, lifting his hips to meet the man’s harsh thrusts. They were unforgiving and felt slightly painful, but Bruce loved them. Loved every word and movement that came from Jeremiah. He loved it all.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Jeremiah asked, feeling the man press sloppy kisses over various parts of his face. “You’d like that, huh? Like my cock inside you, tearing you apart.” His voice all but growled out, pushing the tie out of the way so his teeth could nip freely at Bruce’s bottom lip, drawing more blood from the small wound still pulsing there. And it was all too much, way too much. Bruce never thought it would be like this, never expected just how fucking good Jeremiah would feel. The blurry image in his mind was nothing compared to the real thing, that was for sure.

“God, yes.” He gasped, eyes flying open as one last pull and thrust from Jeremiah sent him tumbling over the edge, body shaking as he came. A cry ripped through his throat, love and lust breaking him open. And Jeremiah loved it, he could tell. Jeremiah wanted Bruce to crack in half so he could crawl into his shell, so they could be curled up together as one, forever. Bruce loved him and hated him for that.

“I love you.” He whispered against Jeremiah’s lips, kissing him gently. He heard Jeremiah gasp, then felt the release of him over his stomach. They were both shuddering, sweaty messes, trying to regain their breath as their bodies calmed down, as well as their minds. Jeremiah’s forehead was pressed against his, eyes flicking up to meet Bruce’s. They were soft, unnaturally so. Bruce wished he could see that more often in them.

“I love you, too.” Jeremiah said, kissing Bruce gently. Too gently, for a man who kills and destroys. No man like that should be this soft. It made Bruce sob, made his heart throb as the words melted over him like burning wax, searing his skin and killing him slowly and painfully. That’s what Jeremiah did, what his words did—they hurt Bruce to the point of no repair: his love was a third degree burn to the heart.

He sobbed onto Jeremiah’s shoulder like an infant, sobbed because it was so  _fucking unfair_ to have this kind of love. And he hated it. He hated it so goddamn much. But there was no guilt or shame left in his heart, just the slight ache of the truth. He felt numb. Jeremiah made him numb. _I hate you so much. Do you see what you do to me?_

“It’s okay, Bruce. We’re one in the same, remember?” Jeremiah said, cleaning them up with tissues from a small coffee table near the couch. He let Jeremiah do it, then dress him up, let him take the tie around his neck and wear it himself, fastening the blue one from earlier around Bruce’s throat. Then he gave him a small smile, wiped his tears, and kissed him gently.

“Two sides of the same coin, hm?” The man murmured, and Bruce cried harder when he saw the lost look of delusion in his eyes. He knew there was no such thing as a good time between them, not with their love. Bruce shook his head and leaned forward for one final kiss. Jeremiah didn’t kiss back, letting the salty tears bleed into his mouth as he tensed from the touch.

“I thought you’d change over this experience, but, oh well. I care for you nonetheless.” Bruce felt the slight press back against his lips before he was being tugged to his feet, standing face to face with Jeremiah. They stared at each other for a few moments before Jeremiah dragged his still quivering body back to the other room, where Ra’s was still standing around leisurely, gazing out the windows. His eyes drifted to the pair as they walked in, an interested look on his face.

“Something seems to be off…” The man commented, brows furrowed as he eyed the two. It seemed to dawn on him then, nose crinkling in what seemed to be disgust.

“I like the ties. They suit you both.” Bruce’s face burned as he glared at Jeremiah’s smiling, laughing eyes. He felt the tug between them, and wanted to reach out once more to grab the man and kiss him senseless. Instead, he let their hands graze together till Jeremiah interlaced their fingers, bringing the skin up to press against his lips.

Love was mad, he decided as a smile broke out upon his face. Jeremiah was right about that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have like three other unfinished batjokes drafts after 5x07 so prepare for more of this trash.
> 
> Comment your thoughts, opinions, etc below. I love hearing from you all!


End file.
